The living statue
by Danny Barefoot
Summary: Galatea's backstory. It's not easy being me.


Galatea was never my birth name, but rather a gift from a man in black. A beautiful white statue in a myth, who enchanted her sculptor. Though he hardly seemed enchanted when the slavers brought me to the fortress, peering like some dry old schoolmaster when I rechristened myself Electra Nemora.

"You will be Galatea; without family name. Until the Operation you may say whatever rubbish you like, but will do _implicitly _as we say, at all times."

"Then I must thank you for the freedom of my lips." Bobbing a mock curtsy, I laid out the smile that had never failed in turning a grown-up to toffee (I hadn't used it on the slavers, because they smelt horrid. Anyway, if they'd taken me back the adventure would've been over before it began, and Mother wouldn't have let me out of the house again until I was forty).

"Behave more modestly in future, and be thankful that we are used to crude raw material. The pre-op dormitories are in the fifth basement, third on the left."

With two masked men, I descended stairs smelling faintly of Yoma blood, to a room filled with pale eyes and human stenches. I smiled at the girl hunched on the next bed to mine.

"Quite primitive, isn't it? So, what can we expect?"

"They're gonna turn us inna monsters; Silver-eyed Witches. I'll be two more days...and Papa, gone, mama..."

"There, there....tch, it was a Yoma? I saw one myself–but a Witch sliced it clean in half. Maybe they're monsters themselves, and barred from heaven, too. But my heart won't stop beating when I remember."

"I'm too scared."

"Hush–I'm scared now, but we're going to take away the fear of the world, so we have to be strong. They'll be Trials before we Set Out, as Warriors."

–0–

The tendril bulged an inch from my lips, then curled back as the Awakened slopped to the floor. Breathing in, I twisted my sword from the morass, wiped sword and arms on the sheets. My bearing was marble, as I came down from the bedroom. Frown fine and distant in the hallway mirrors, just like my old smile.

"You're alive! I mean, I'm sorry." Number 28 (it described her better than any name) was knelt in the mansion's doorway, with two half-dead comrades. "I just healed up, I couldn't–"

"I know when you healed your stomach, and I knew how much you were ready for before we even set out–so don't worry, alright? Just try never to run from a fight altogether, or they'll send me to find you. And I've found that I can abandon a comrade quite easily too."

"I-I only, I knew you'd be fine..."

I swept away, checking the solidly furnished rooms of the mansion, a country property near Rabona.

In the dining room, there was an oldish woman, clutching a small girl to her chest. I walked up to them, and spoke in a rush.

"I've killed the monster. There aren't any more for fifty miles–I can sense that, I'm actually one of the best."

She gazed out of her own skull, delicate blue eyes horribly inflamed. I could smell two different kinds of urine, but I knew at least they could still hear me.

"We'll remove the bodies and clean up on our way out. I only notice now, but this is a lovely house. So peaceful. Please don't be scared."

The little girl moaned and stirred. The woman tightened her grip, hiding the girl's eyes in her chest. The surface of my face was unaffected.

"Tell the other town leaders that a man in black will collect your fee within the week. I'll probably have another mission waiting....good luck." By the door, I heard my mother whisper;

"Good luck, Claymore. I suppose you'll be okay?"

I left Number 28 and the others to return to their own regions alone. I walked for miles, over crossroads and rivers. Then I found a shack by the road, where I could rest, and quietly cry.

To my shock, it wouldn't end. I unslung my sword and hurled it away as the tears grew violent. Unbuckled each piece of armour. Cast them off like a heartbroken debutante throwing her shoes to her floor.

Then I lay there, until the shack's door opened above me. My hair was a nest of snakes, my eyes red-raw and quite still.

"I look like a monster don't I?"

"How do you feel, Galatea?"

"I feel....less." My hand cautiously began picking at my hair–the man in black seized it.

"No. Your moulding is finished, God-eye Galatea. Absolute vision and the necessary incorruptible spirit; finally brought to perfection."

"You planned this. My mother, that girl, my sister–you assigned me here."

"To awaken my beautiful sculpture to awareness of herself. Humanity's sacrifice, above pride or desire in her shining tower of death. I knew when I first saw you, but so long to wait."

"You...know just the things to say to a girl." An empty reflex-witticism–I could feel what he said, in my heart.

"You've left the human girl you were, Galatea; left behind everything. I'm the only one who knows you; only I can love you at all." My eyes rose to him, before cold lips pressed on my face, and nails scrabbled at my hemline.

A disgusting human. But I was a disgusting monster and if I moved I would kill him, and die a monster's death. Or I would be still, and cold. Live through another wearisome episode as a defender of humanity; I couldn't care anymore about any of it.

"Your eyes. So pure..." Breathing hard, the man pulled my shirt up, swallowing as he gazed at my implant scar, exposed, with its scales and little growths, ran his hand down in a trail of sweat, "I can look past a monster's body. Galatea–"

I had to be quite gentle; he was a human, and they are so fragile. The Organisation's man slumped down the wall, mouthing dumbly, since his jaw was shattered, and I put my armour back on.

–0–

"For assaulting a Claymore, Yessay will be reassigned to retrievals. Your punishment for striking an Organisation Member will be decided soon."

"You treat the bodies and souls of us girls as you like, but showing us a bit of love isn't allowed? How perverse."

"Criticising the Organisation, in your situation–"

"Your friend (Yessay, was it?), told me when I came in that I could speak as I like, and would do as you say. Don't worry that I'll ever go against the Organisation, my fellow Claymores, or your accord with the normal world–they're all too big a joke to be outdone by one-liners. But I'll keep my feelings for myself, while I'm still alive."

I smiled encouragingly at the girl on the floor of the punishment cell, a trainee who had tried to escape. Her face dropped to the floor; my eyes returned to the black figure outside the bars.

"If we are cruel, oppose us. Or else live on, despising the tasks you cannot stomach. Despise what you like, but obey, and despise yourself. While you are part of our work, all our works are a part in you."

I watched the Organisation's man sweep out. Behind me, the trainee girl raised her little white head.

"Ma'am...I won't blame you for not rescuing me. You can't help everyone; you're Number Three, God-eye Galatea..."

"Say, do I look like a good person to you?" I ran my fingers lightly over my hair, smiling to see her blush, "If we had a sword, I could look at my reflection."

"You're...very beautiful, ma'am. I dunno if–"

"Well, the face reveals the soul." Almost unconsciously, I touched they scar they had left in me, "And whatever kind of soul, it's still mine. I'm the only one who makes my choices, the only one I'll blame."


End file.
